The colonel finished with the lieutenant and turned back. He saw the planes to be in the same position as before, but didn’t reconfirm their identifying numbers. He turned to another officer.
“Let’s board our passengers and get them out of here before the weather turns.”
A few soldiers came up with umbrellas.
Phil shook hands with Tim.
“Have a good trip,” he said.
“You, too,” said Tim.
“Tim, everything’s going to work out just great, I know it is,” said Phil with a smile.
“I hope so,” Tim said.
He turned to say goodbye to Bianca, but she was already headed to the plane under an umbrella carried by a soldier. Tim grabbed up his duffle bag and slung it over his shoulder.
“Tell them to hurry it up,” the colonel called out. “Mrs. Dumaine needs to get out of this rain. She’s getting a bad cold.” The colonel trotted out in the downpour to see Bianca off.
The cabin doors opened on the first plane, then the second, then the third one for the Secret Service detail.
“Have a good time in Florida, ma’am. You’ll get over that cold in no time.”
“Thank you, Colonel,” she said, then scurried up the entry ramp and into the plane.
“Thanks a lot, Colonel,” said Phil, following her up. The steward closed the door immediately to keep out the rain.
Tim rushed over to the other plane, up into it and the door went up.
The Secret Service detail boarded the third plane, waiting to follow the others to the runway.
* * *
In the cockpit of the Secret Service plane, the pilot was talking to the tower.
“We follow oh-niner-two-niner-three-five-seven, special flight 2803 to Fort Lauderdale.”
Looking at the identifying number on the tail, he moved his plane behind Tim’s.
* * *
In the cockpit of Bianca’s plane, the pilot looked at a map of his route to Wellfleet. And turned to the co-pilot.
“Wish we were headed the other way,” he joked.
“So the fuck do I.”
In the main cabin of that aircraft, the steward came up to Bianca and Phil as they settled into seats facing each other.
“Anything to drink before we take off?”
“No,” said Bianca.
The steward looked at Phil.
“What kind of Champagne have you got?”
“We have two nice California wines: the Chandon or the Schramsberg from Napa.”
“We’ll have the Schramsberg.”
Bianca looked around the cabin for something. She looked up at the steward.
“Didn’t someone leave a valise here for me?”
“No, ma’am. Everything was loaded into the cargo hold.
“Damn it! I wanted to go over those all that paperwork on the flight down. I told Sally Johnson to make sure they put that valise in the cabin, not with the luggage.”
“I can ask the captain to abort the flight so we can get it,” suggested the steward.
Phil rolled his eyes.
“Bianca, can’t it wait? We’ll be there in no time. This is a Gulfstream.”
“Oh, forget it then.”
“Fasten your seat belts, please. We’re taking off immediately,” said the steward, who then disappeared aft.
“Oh, baby. This is great. We’re outta here,” Phil said in a tone low enough that the steward couldn’t overhear.
Bianca sneezed.
“I wish I felt better,” she said.
“You will—as soon as we get to Florida.”
* * *
The three VIP planes moved to the head of the long line of other aircraft waiting patiently their turn to take off.
The first plane carrying Tim barreled down the runway and took off, followed immediately by the second and third planes.
The first two vectored off and headed south for Florida, the third one, carrying Bianca and Phil, vectored off north for Massachusetts.
* * *
CHAPTER 85
Tim had the whole cabin to himself, so he selected a seating unit that had four seats, two on each side facing each other across a small conference table.
He settled in with a cup of hot coffee, laying out the Secret Service surveys and drawings on the table to review them before his meetings tomorrow up at Hawk’s Landing.
He looked up from his papers to drain his cup and noticed a slender valise resting on the double seats facing him across the conference table.
The steward came from the galley with a pot of coffee.
“Is that yours?” he pointed to the valise.
“No, sir. When they stowed your luggage, they said to leave this in the main cabin, not the cargo hold with the rest of it.”
Tim glanced over his shoulder at the small duffle bag he’d brought with him, resting on the seat across the aisle.
“That’s my only luggage.”
“Well, I don’t know,” said the steward, reaching over and handing the valise to Tim.
He poured out a second cup of coffee (Tim liked the fact that on these VIP flights, you got a nice porcelain cup, not Styrofoam) when he heard a click and the pilot came on.
“This is the pilot, Mrs. Dumaine. It’s good to have you and Mr. Thuris on board with us today. We expect our trip into Fort Lauderdale to be about one hour and forty-two minutes. If we can do anything to make your trip more comfortable, please just ask the steward.”
Click.
“What’s that all about?”
“I have no idea.”
“You better go up there and tell him that I’m not Mrs. Dumaine. I’m Tim Harcourt, and I’m going to Wellfleet.”
The steward raised his eyebrows and went up to the cockpit.
Tim’s gaze turned toward the valise. He looked out the window. Far below, he could see thousands of little pinpricks of light shining. He remembered the weather report indicated crystal clear conditions south of Washington, but stormy weather all the way to New England.
The steward came back shaking his head.
“You’re on the wrong plane, Mr. Harcourt.”
“You sure we’re not just going in the wrong direction?”
“The captain is checking with air traffic control and they’ll sort things out.” He reached for the coffee pot on the sideboard. “I was just getting you more coffee.”
“Yeah,” said Tim, moving his cup on the tray in front of him closer to the steward.
* * *
CHAPTER 86
The weather had also attracted Bianca’s attention.
“It looks like pea soup out there,” she said. “They said the weather below Washington would be clear—it’s just as bad as when we left.”
Phil signaled the steward, who came rushing over.
“Yes, sir? More of the Schramsberg?”
“Yes, I’ll have some more. It’s really good. Do me a favor. Ask the pilot what the weather report is for Fort Lauderdale.”
“Certainly.”
The steward went forward into the cockpit and closed the door behind him.
“Here,” said Phil, “have some more of this wine. Help you battle that nasty cold you’re coming down with.”
“You think?”
“By the time we land, our troubles will be history.”
The steward returned with a piece of paper.
“Let’s see. It’s rainy all the way down to Washington and into Northern Virginia; after that it’s clear. No cloud cover.”
Bianca slowly turned from the window and looked up at the steward.
“What do you mean, ‘down to Washington’? Where are we now.”
“We’re just over Baltimore. It’s rainy from here to Massachusetts.”
“Baltimore?”
Phil tried to leap out of his seat, only to be restrained by his seat belt.
Phil fumbled with the seat belt release catch.
“Baltimore?” Bianca echoed.
Phil was
now free of his seat belt.
“Take me to the pilot! Now! I’ve got to talk to him!”
Motorists entering the Fort McHenry Tunnel might not have seen it when the fireball erupted above the dense overcast sky, but some of them saw the fiery wreckage plummet onto the grounds of historic Fort McHenry, damaging the ramparts seen by Francis Scott Key from aboard the British warship HMS Surprise when he wrote The Star Spangled Banner during the bombardment of Baltimore in the War of 1812.
And scaring a slumbering Park Service night watchman almost to death.
* * *
CHAPTER 87
Jack and the President were sitting down to a late dinner in the Residence before watching some football when the news came through from the Air Force.
“Send someone up with the details,” said the President on the phone. “No. We’ll come down to the office.”
The elder St. Clair grabbed a windbreaker lying on the chair next to him as he looked at Jack.
“What?” said Jack.
The President pursed his lips.
“Tim Harcourt’s plane just blew up over Baltimore.”
Jack opened his mouth and sucked in some air.
“Whoa…”
By the time Jack and the President got to the Oval Office, an Air Force attaché and three aides were waiting for them. The attaché kept shaking his head.
“What happened, Major?” the President asked as he took his seat behind his desk.
“Well, Mr. President, there’s something very strange here. We got the call that Mr. Harcourt’s plane bound for Wellfleet broke up over Baltimore, but when we alerted the other planes that took off at the same time, the pilot of the plane taking Mrs. Dumaine to Fort Lauderdale told us that Mr. Harcourt was on that plane. It didn’t take long to figure out that Mrs. Dumaine and Mr. Thuris boarded Mr. Harcourt’s plane.”
“They got on the wrong planes?” asked Jack.
“Oh, boy,” the President said in a low voice. He sent the aides away with orders to give him a full report in the morning at 7 A.M. He told Jack to get hold of Dumaine and give him the bad news.
“Okay.”
“You’ve gotten pretty close to the man. You tell him his wife’s dead but his boyfriend lives.”
“Dad…”
“I know. Just a sick joke. We’ll talk about this when we watch the game. Something’s not kosher.”
“Who’d want to kill Tim Harcourt?”
“That’s what’s so puzzling.”
When his dad left the office, Jack reached over and grabbed a phone, had them punch him through to Dumaine. Jack decided the best way to handle this was just to let him have it right between the eyes.
“You’re kidding?” was the first thing Dumaine said.
“I wish I was kidding, Bill.”
“Bianca and Phil. Oh, my God,” Dumaine said softly.
“I can’t tell you how sorry my dad and I are for you, Bill.”
“And Tim?”
Jack caught a little more urgency in Dumaine’s voice now.
“He should be landing in Fort Lauderdale any minute.”
There was a long pause while Jack imagined what was going through Bill’s mind.
“I need him back here to help, Jack,” Dumaine said. “I want you to get them to bring him back. He’s, uh, really close to the girls, and, uh—”
Jack knew he was fighting for the words to justify the request.
“I understand,” Jack replied, and, of course, he did understand. “I’ll take care of it.”
* * *
Tim’s plane had just landed at Fort Lauderdale International Airport when word came through from the top FAA administrator to the tower ordering the plane to turn right around and go back to Washington. The C-37B had a long range, so there wasn’t any need to refuel. Air traffic control told the pilot to use Runway X-7 immediately. All other traffic was held back.
The steward came back from the cockpit and told Tim to turn on his cell phone.
“It’s Senator Dumaine,” he said. “Urgent.”
Dumaine told Tim what had happened just a little while ago, and that he had the White House order Tim’s plane to return.
“Okay,” was all Tim could say.
“I want you to be with me when I tell the girls,” Dumaine said.
“Sure. We’ll be back soon.” Tim paused. “Bill, I’m real sorry about Bianca… and Phil.”
There was an awkward pause on the other end.
“Yeah, thanks.”
“Be back soon.”
As soon as the return flight took off, Tim noticed the steward’s hands trembling slightly when he came toward him with a pot of coffee and a cup. Tim could tell the steward had been given the news up in the cockpit.
Tim smiled and the steward offered a weak simper in return.
“Coffee?” he asked, a tremor in his voice. “Fresh pot.”
“I think it’s time for something a little stronger,” said Tim. “How about a, uh, Stoli? Make it a Stoli on the rocks, wedge of lime.”
“Right away,” said the steward, dashing aft.
Tim released his seat belt and got up to pace around the spacious, luxuriously appointed cabin. His mind had been racing ever since Bill told him what happened. He especially remembered Phil’s last words to him as they shook hands:
“Tim, everything’s going to work out just great, I know it is.”
And he remembered Phil had smiled. Smiled in a certain way he’d never seen Phil smile before. All sorts of thoughts drifted into his mind, distracting him so that he was startled when the timid steward came back with his Stoli.
“Thanks.” He took it, then looked at the guy. “You know, I think it might be a good idea for you to have a couple of quick ones along with me. I won’t say a word to anyone.”
The guy smiled.
“Thanks. You know, that could have been us. You were on the wrong plane.”
Tim smiled back.
“You’ve got something backwards. You’d still be here with Mrs. Dumaine and Phil Thuris. But I’d be dead in Baltimore.”
The steward looked down at Tim’s Stoli.
“I think I’ll have one of those.”
* * *
CHAPTER 88
The next morning, Bill Dumaine made his way down the corridor to the Oval Office, following President St. Clair’s appointments secretary, who opened the door, smiled and stood aside. Dumaine was taken with how nice her teeth were, suddenly bothered by the fact that he remembered it was Phil who’d mentioned that to him.
St. Clair got up and came around his desk and took Bill’s hand. Over the President’s shoulder, Dumaine saw Jack Houston St. Clair and the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, both of whom stood up immediately.
“Bill, I can’t tell you—” St. Clair began.
“Thank you, Mr. President.”
St. Clair gestured toward the sofas by the fireplace and they all made their way over and sat down.
St. Clair looked to the chairman.
“How far have we got towards an explanation?”
“Nowhere, Mr. President. Nothing makes sense. It was well known that the President-elect was in Washington, and remaining in Washington. The really weird thing is that Mrs. Dumaine and Mr. Thuris got on the wrong plane. The plane that exploded was only supposed to be carrying Mr. Harcourt.”
“So if there’s any conspiracy, it would involve someone targeting Tim Harcourt specifically, not Mrs. Dumaine or Phil Thuris,” said Jack.
“Exactly.”
“Tim Harcourt couldn’t have been the target?” asked Dumaine.
“Of course not,” the chairman scoffed.
“Now it makes sense. It was just an accident,” said Jack.
“Exactly. Who would want to kill Mr. Harcourt?” said the chairman. “Not to downplay his importance or value, of course, but the reality is this: what possible impact could his death have on policy?”
“Well, none, really,” Dumaine nodded, realizing the
n and there just how well he and Tim had been able to keep their “secret.”
The Running Mate (A Jack Houston St. Clair Thriller) Page 30